Many Gifts = One Body
John
14:12 (NLT) “I tell you the truth,
anyone who believes in me will do the same works I have done and even greater
works, because I am going to be with the father.”
I
look back on my past three years and know that God has saved my life for a purpose. It is in this that I put my hope
and continue to eat by faith despite the fear of the weight and the constantly
changing image I see in the mirror.
One minute I see that I am thin, the next is see a bloated grotesque
creature, ironically, neither of which I recognize or connect with as me. Yet God must see me, recognize me, and
needs me to somehow be his hands and feet to those around me.
I
find myself less frequently asking why me; why do I have to bare this burden,
and more frequently asking why has God saved my life? What are the “works” he has spared my life to do in his
name? Greater works than he has
done because he has gone to be with the father, that is what he has promised.
“Greater
works” I say audibly to God and myself.
“What is my gift? What
works have you equipped me to do?
When I think of greater works and spiritual gifts I often want my gift
to be something huge ,one of the biggies, like prophesy, or sudden healings as
I lay my hands on the sick and the wounded. How do I expect to heal others in his name when I myself
still struggle to be well? Do I
doubt when there is no sudden healing?
Yes, I do doubt, but then he brings to mind the small miracles that have
occurred when laying my hands on the sick, the wounded, the dying. I remember Elizabeth writhing in pain,
begging for pain meds that she couldn’t take for another hour. She was crying, her mom was crying, I
put my hands on her calling on the Holly Spirit to blind her to the pain. I left the room only to have her mother
tell me “I don’t know what you said, but she is calm, she is quiet.” Wow, he used me to do this, to ease her
pain just as he used me to comfort my dying father, and build up a friend whose
husband had left her. Small
miracles?
This
week, my hands and prayers may not have performed sudden healings, but they
began a process of healing the beautiful people of Belize moving them towards
health and wellness. It may have
been treating an actual physical illness.
It may have been healing their hearts and souls, as some seem to come
just for a touch of compassion, to feel a connection to another human being, to
feel a connection to God. I hope
that I showed them this. There is
nothing more powerful than feeling that you are valuable and feeling someone not
only touches your body, but your soul.
One
of the greater miracles of the week was that I survived conditions that would
usually repulse or scare me. I
even survived sharing my room with a tree frog, geckos, and odd looking bugs
that prove to me that God must have a sense of humor in his creativity.
He
allowed me to look past the grimy hair, the rotting teeth, and people that
rarely bathe wearing clothes that never get washed. Most of the time I wasn’t even aware of how bad these people
smelled. Every once in a while God
would send me a quick whiff to remind me of what he wasn’t allowing me to
smell. I was struck by the
universal want and need for the love and touch of other people.
They are people that really work so hard
for so very little, while we, in reality work so little for so much. Not that we in the US don’t work hard,
but we take so much for granted in our surroundings. Our schools keep our children warm in the winter, and cool
in the spring and fall. We have doctors
to go to that specialize and practice in real offices. Yet we complain when we wait too long,
or the office is too hot, too cold, or crowded. These people arrived in the
early hours long before we did waiting with the patience of Job as they were
moved from station to station like the cattle being herded in the farm next
door. Some, never even made it inside the gate. I reminded myself of this as I
complained of no hot water in my hut like room, yet I at least had running water.
San
Victor, I am one of the few that don’t mind this village. Maybe it is because I had no
preconceived notion about it. I
felt useful in the mundane, like holding a door closed so that a young boy
could be thoroughly examined to make sure he wasn’t being abused. I had the honor of praying with a
little girl and rubbing her back as the doctors performed surgery in the field
on a previously botched surgery. I
like that I could freely pray aloud in the spirit as there were many languages
spoken in the same room, and that God could utter through his spirit the words
I didn’t know to say. My tears of
compassion flowing like the words from my lips.
She
was muy bonita, her long shiny black hair clinging to the sweat and tears on
her face. Terry was amazing,
looking into her eyes to calm her cries of fear and pain. I took at least four of us to hold her
tiny body down and when her aunt couldn’t bare it any longer she handed me the
leg she had been holding away from the “sterile field.” I was keenly aware of the universal
heartache of watching a loved one in pain or suffering. I was ashamed that, because we treat so
many, we sometimes loose track of their humanity.
The
doctors were impressive and all of us felt a little like McGyver setting up a
make shift OR using a table from the alter to lay her on, any flash light we
could find to illuminate the field, and a roll of paper towels to support the
damaged leg.
By
then I had dried my own tears, realizing that I had shifted in the past year by
allowing myself to feel more on this trip, no longer numb from the eating
disorder. I cried for this
precious child, her pain, her fear. I thanked God for all of our gifts. Maybe we had pulled off “sudden healing” by using our
individual gifts? In this moment there was not one gift that was greater or one
that was less. We were all working
together as one body…The body of Christ.
